Tag Archives: fiction

Stage 38: The theratess

He walked through her door, and immediately a welcoming warmth embraced him. Her presence came to greet his aura, scolding his uncertainty. He left his doubts and dignity at the threshold as if it was a matter of undressing. Although he always left saying he would never come back, here he was again. It was as if there was a sedative in that room- one that captured and paralyzed you in its comfort. However, as soon as you left, its effect vanished- gone too perfectly, without a trace, which always made him question whether it was ever there in the first place- whether he was right to feel safe in the embrace of what he could never find elsewhere.

He walked calmly towards the chaise where she waited. His stride was controlled, deliberate and complacent but slowly became more and more desperate. With every step he channeled his burdens, ready to unleash them at her with all the force he had. She was waiting patiently for him.

He now recognised the need he denied adamantly in the outside world- the need for a release… the need for a her.

She had greeted him and he had responded, both of them aware of the odd formality this brought to a meeting so frequent. He ignored the pangs of guilt- the emotions that would be shared in this room today, he had not even shared with his wife.

He finally reached her and stopped at her feet. He noticed the ID tag around her neck securing their relationship.

‘Sit down Russel, how was your week?’ she recited, as she turned to a new page in her notepad.

Stage 37: The final act.

She plucked the eyeshadow palette off of the cluttered dresser. It was hard to see in the dimly lit room but nevertheless she applied the pigment to her lids like a seasoned professional.

A tube-light flickered in a distant corner of the cramped room. Undeterred, she masterfully coated her lips with deep red paint. Next was the highlighter- the highlighter was most important. Anong had always said that next to a good pair, glitter was the way to a man’s heart. She glanced at the clock as she simultaneously swept a brush across her cheekbones, leaving a trail of arrogant shimmer.

5 o’clock.

Her eyes, now relaxed, fell upon her face. She lifted her hands up to her cheeks, her fingers tugging with a gentle persuasion at her skin. It was a futile attempt to smoothen out the various creases that had formed over the last few years. She had wondered where, when and how the lines had crept up, wondered whether they were demons of accumulated stress or scars of surreptitious smiles, wondered whether she could have done anything to avoid them- whether she could do anything to stop them.

“15 MINUTES LOVE” a voice boomed from the room next door.

Snapped out of her resentful trance she diverted her attention to her hair; an asset age hadn’t managed to claim. She caught a glimpse of Serena entering the room behind her, cuing her to finish up, and prompting feelings of jealous detest. Serena who was unaware of the feelings she harboured, smiled respectfully- she smiled back dutifully.

However now rushed, she added the finishing touches to her hair; a sprinkle of glitter and a generous amount of hairspray. She pushed a bouquet of feather boa’s aside and set down her curling iron. It was time.

5:30 am.

She emerged through the colored plastic beads onto the stage. The epileptic lights beat harshly against her bright makeup, a comatic combination for the exhilarated men in the room. She lived for this moment- The feeling of having control over every soul in the room was orgasmic. But when she danced, it was even better. She knew the people watching weren’t themselves anymore- she knew they were in a lucid state, completely and utterly enthralled in her, their minds vacuous stores, ready to be filled with every move she made. Although she was the one in garments that left nothing to the imagination, the people watching her were the ones exposed.

5:50 am.

She had their souls… They were hers to take and Anong had always said that a person who attainted souls was wealthier than a person who attained capital.

Inebriated with her own grace, she made sure she never made eye contact with anyone; that was the most common mistake. Direct contact was harmful but inevitably, without fail, it happened…  Although their attention was intoxicating, eventually, an excess of anything becomes unendurable, intolerable… poisonous.

In this case their poisonous glances induced disgust. Her command over drooling dogs no longer held its appeal and that, was the result of tasting the forbidden fruit.

Holding her surreptitious gaze she slid down the pole.

6:00 am.

Carrying an un-communicated sombre aura she retreated into the containment of the beads. Todays performance had drained her soul entirely. She could not revitalize herself with the usual dose of a content audience – today their whistles sounded more like the cries of hungry mongrels.

But, as if they had heard her silent flee, the intrusive cheers drooled through the beads as an inescapable voice reverberated from the stage finding its way to her hesitantly welcoming ears- “Another round of applause, you bastards for the Queen herself… Our very own, Queen of Bangkok”.

‘Queen’. She cherished the words as she dressed up for her final act.

“Anurak! You’re home ! How was work today?… My god you look tired-  they need to stop calling you in for those night shifts. Why I should go down there and have a chat with your boss.Honestly, yours must be the first postoffice to get midnight influxes”

“Oh nothing… The usual- as you said- influx of packages, they needed me. No. Don’t worry your pretty little head Anong- I can handle it” he sneered back, planting a kiss on his wife’s cheek.

The final act had begun.

Stage 36: The girl in the clearing

She held her palms shut, revealing veins that ran like powerful rivers, diluting the fragility of her small hands. Her footsteps were heavy betraying the swift pace she maintained effortlessly- this could have been mistaken for her daily route if not for the sweat that ran down her tense body.

She avoided the branches flung at her by the whispering trees. They were passing around her secrets and did not attempt to hide this fact- their whispers were deafening. However she did not care for she was running now. Running somewhere unknown to her, in attempts to escape that awful world behind her.

She ran for what felt like hours, letting the sounds of the trees guide her, until she finally reached her destination. The forest opened its arms to reveal a sweeping carpet of green and gray. The floor was littered with stones of various shapes and sizes and at that moment she knew she was not at this clearing by mistake.

She located a rock that was suspiciously larger than the rest and rendered helpless she let her tired body carry her towards the inviting dull of the boulder.

She had run.

And now she was alone.

She perched herself precariously onto a ledge that protruded from the rock and finally let out a deep breath- with it she released all her worries, sorrows and regrets. For she had run and now she was alone.

And that’s when she realised; she had been led into the arms of what she was trying to escape.

Now that she was alone, there was nothing to shield her from that harsh darkness that resided within her. There could be no more excuses- it was her and her only.

She heard the deafening whispers again but this time they sounded different. This time they didn’t sound like whispers at all. No. She knew now.

Her emotions laughed at her mockingly, their sound cascading over the clearing in a thunderous clamour. They laughed for she had run. And now she was alone.

They laughed because she was theirs now.

Stage 34: The problem.

A middle aged wealthy Man sits in his 4BHk apartment in Mumbai watching the presidential elections on Fox news. ‘Ah’ he thinks to himself, ‘What a time it is to be alive… a woman contending to run the most powerful nation on the planet. Equality has truly been achieved’ he says as his son watches item songs in the next room.

The Man glancing at the grandfather clock, shouts for his evening tea. His wife realising the maid is attending her 10 year old daughter’s wedding in a nearby village, scurries to make the tea herself.

He switches channels mechanically as a girl in a neighboring building is being dragged into a room, her underwear ripped off and her genitals being “circumcised” to rid of her unnatural sexual urges.

The man impatiently inquires as to what is taking the tea so long, incessantly stating how late it is, as a woman down the street waits for her impending bus which carries a predator and his natural sexual urges.

Somewhere in another shanty town a boy dumps his books and ditches school to play cricket with his friends while his older sister prepares meals for her family, having giving up attempting to read the unfamiliar markings on her brother’s textbooks a long time ago. The man back in Mumbai finally receives his Chai; ‘Ah’ he exclaims, ‘you forgot the sugar’.



There is a problem in India. A serious one.

There are problems in India. Serious ones.

And the only reason they aren’t being recognised is the misconception that equality has been achieved. Comments like ‘ Hey, even the West hasn’t had a female president dude, but we have’ help people like me identify the problem; the problem lies within the fact that we compare our battle with the most popular one but in reality we are multitudes of phases behind them. In the West problems like the wage gap are addressed by feminists but in India we cannot simply skip over and address that same problem when most women aren’t even educated enough to do those jobs.

The problem lies within all of India; each religion, socioeconomic group, age, gender and occupation. However if the most educated, most privileged of those people fail to recognise it then how can we expect anyone else to.

featured image from http://www.dnaindia.com

Stage 22: Unspoken bonds (Part 2..)

Its repetitive isn’t it? The game of heartbreak

Yet we all still play. Participate with full enthusiasm, impetus and with no plan to learn from our mistakes. We all know the outcome, yet we are still hurt when it happens.

Even the strongest humans are susceptible to this disease. The disease that has taken a toll on countless, unsuspecting, innocent victims, and their lives. The implacable disease of Love.

A drug, an addiction,

Something that you can live without but forget how to live without.

The concept of the game? Oh its very simple. You either play or get played. Its very rare to find a friendly match where the two sides are not competing to destroy one another.

The end result? Complete obliteration of the defending team.

Why is this simple game with simple rules so hard though? The answer to that is well… simple.

When things are easy, we tend to use all that extra room to over-complicate stuff. Therefore everyone ends up playing a different game; employing their own strategies and bending the unspoken rules to their own liking.

Another weapon the brave soldiers (that enter this brutal war) are equipped with is the ‘blinker’ ( the blinders horses wear, to prevent them from being frightened by potential harm). However, when our brave soldier puts on this metaphorical blinker, he restricts himself to a view of only the potential harm.

And once this blinker is on.. BOOM.

Total Annihilation.

Stage 20: Travel Diaries and Childhood memories

The emerald tinged waters berated the vibrancy of the violet skies all while the gentle breeze blew with a fierce grace.

The house-boat swayed gently in the deep narrow river, safely encased in a thick rain-forest carpeted with luscious floors of green.

An inquisitive child peered over the starboard of her temporary home, into the mesmerizing abyss of the waters. Her mother hovering over her, motivated by her cautiousness and interest in the welfare of the child.

However, unaware of the impending danger and the vastness of the river, the little girl was lost.

Daydreaming was her forte.

She was a Dreamer.

‘I wonder how many me’s it would take to drink all this water’

‘I wonder how fish drink water. Do fish drink water?’

‘So if fish drink water and then also excrete this pee, but remain in the same waters, are they drinking the-‘ ‘DINNER’S READY’

And just like that, the attention shifts towards something greater than fish urine. Food.

The aroma of the lemon zest reverberated off of the fried fish, engulfing the lower deck immediately.

‘But you love fish. Why wont you eat now?’ ‘What do you mean it’s dirty? WHAT DO YOU MEAN ITS COVERED IN PEE?”I’m not letting you leave this table until you eat that fish, you fussy child.Now eat.’

And there they remained.At the table. Until the mother’s heart softened at the unspoken plea of her stubborn child and the rice and curry was brought out again.